The perfect savory muffin

The ideal base — plus three ways to play

The Bite subscribers can now join the conversation — click the speech bubble icon to leave a comment or click the heart to like this post. We just finished up a series about seasonal, weeknight baking that included: this triple apple snacking cake, fig jam hand pies, a no-bake pear cheesecake with granola, and a better pumpkin bread. This week, I have a savory bake to share. Let’s dive in!

Earlier this fall, I decided to learn crochet in earnest. I say “learn” as if I were starting from scratch, but I have faint, fuzzy memories of both grandmothers leaning over my shoulder, guiding my hand as we built endless chains that trailed across the carpet like vines, only to be unraveled minutes later so we could start again. The classic childhood ouroboros: creation, destruction, repeat.

At some point, though, I stopped. I never got past the pot-holder stage, the beginner plateau where ambition meets a lack of tension control, and the yarn eventually migrated to the back of a closet, as forgotten as the recorder I learned in third grade.

But sometime this year, I realized I had drifted into the modern trance of double-screening — phone glowing while the television blared — and something in me rebelled. The next morning, I wandered into a local yarn store called The Dropped Stitch and found myself petting skeins of mohair in colors with edible names: “tarragon,” “licorice,” “pumpkin spice.” I left with the pumpkin one, of course, and a new hook, and by that night I was sitting on the couch, tongue between my teeth, reacquainting myself with the basics: single stitch, double stitch, treble.

At a certain point, something shifted. I was no longer just playing with string; I was making fabric. Uneven, bumpy, full-of-heart fabric, but still: something that could keep you warm. It felt almost alchemical. Once I got the rhythm down, I began to experiment: a fringe here, a scalloped edge there, even the terrifying act of turning a corner.

There’s something deeply satisfying about that moment when you’ve finally mastered the bones of a new skill and can start to play. It’s the same thrill I get from a few bedrock recipes, the ones so deeply memorized they become launchpads for improvisation. Good pizza dough. Silky bechamel. Egg pasta that stretches like silk. Once you know those, you’re free to riff — to add lemon zest or nutmeg or a fistful of herbs — the culinary equivalent of adding fringe.

That’s why I want to share what I think might be the perfect savory muffin. I’ve been quietly working on this one for months — a small obsession that started as a way to use up a half-empty carton of buttermilk and turned, somehow, into a quest. After many test batches and a few tragic crumbly failures, I finally landed on the right formula: soft white flour for tenderness, a scoop of cornmeal for texture, a heavy hand with black pepper and the powerful marriage of oil and butter, which together create a crumb that’s both plush and crisp-edged. There’s just enough onion and garlic powder to make the kitchen smell like breakfast at a good diner.

As written, the recipe needs nothing more than a generous swipe of cultured butter and a plate of soft scrambled eggs, maybe a rasher of bacon if you’re feeling traditional. But it’s also a dream of a base recipe — the kind you can build on endlessly once you’ve got it down. I’ve been playing with three variations lately: a classic corn, cheddar and bacon number; a butternut squash muffin with manchego and crisped sage; and a “farmers market” version that folds in roasted vegetables, goat cheese and a dollop of onion jam.

They freeze beautifully, reheat like a charm, and make the kind of cozy, quietly impressive breakfast you’ll be grateful for when guests are still half-asleep and coffee hasn’t yet kicked in. I already have a few batches stashed away for the morning after Thanksgiving, a small insurance policy against holiday chaos.

Here is the base muffin recipe: 

The Perfect Savory Muffin 

Makes: 12 standard muffins
Total time: 30 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour

• ¼ cup fine or medium cornmeal

• 2 tsp baking powder

• ½ tsp baking soda

• 1 tsp kosher salt

• ½ tsp freshly ground black pepper

• 1 tsp garlic powder

• 1 tsp onion powder

• 1 tsp sugar (optional, just enhances browning)

• 2 large eggs

• 1 cup buttermilk

• ¼ cup melted unsalted butter 

• ¼ cup neutral oil

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 375°F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with liners or grease well with butter/nonstick spray.

2. Combine dry ingredients: In a large bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, salt, pepper, spices and sugar.

3. Whisk wet ingredients: In a medium bowl (or large measuring cup), whisk together eggs, buttermilk and both fats (melted butter + oil) until smooth and lightly frothy.

4. Combine gently: Pour wet into dry ingredients and fold together with a spatula just until no dry streaks remain. This batter should be thick but spoonable — like cornbread batter, not runny pancake batter.

5. Fill and top: Divide batter evenly among muffin cups (they’ll be about ¾ full). Add toppings or crumbs if using.

6. Bake for 18–22 minutes, until golden and a tester comes out clean. Rotate halfway for even browning if your oven tends to have hot spots.

7. Cool for 5 minutes in the tin, then transfer to a rack. Sprinkle with flaky salt while still warm, if desired.

Once you’ve baked a batch or two, you start to see just how adaptable this little recipe is. The base can handle about 1½ cups of mix-ins, total — enough to fold through the batter without weighing it down. From there, you can go wherever your cravings take you: roasted vegetables, cheese, crumbled bacon, herbs, even a swirl of jam if you’re feeling cheeky.

Here are three of my favorite riffs:

Classic Corn, Cheddar and Bacon 

I fold in about ¾ cup of sharp cheddar, a handful of scallions, ½ cup of corn (frozen is fine; it roasts sweetly in the oven), and four slices of thick-cut bacon, crisped and crumbled. The corn hits first, a gentle, buttery sweetness that plays against the cornmeal’s subtle grit, while the cheddar melts into pockets of gooey tang. And the bacon — smoky, salty, a little crunchy — anchors it all.

Butternut Squash and Sage 

For a more autumnal spin, I tuck in about ½ cup of cubed, softened butternut squash, a sprinkle of brown sugar, cubes of manchego, and a few torn sage leaves. A scattering of hazelnuts adds a buttery crunch, and I finish the tops with a light dusting of toasted Panko crumbs. The muffins emerge golden and fragrant, with warm, nutty, slightly caramelized edges.

The Farmers Market Muffin 

This one is a little freer, a patchwork of whatever vegetables and herbs you have lingering in the crisper. My version includes a red bell pepper, chopped sun-dried tomatoes, ½ cup crumbled goat cheese, a handful of spinach and ¼ cup of onion jam. Everything bagel seasoning on top makes the whole thing slightly addictive: a crunch of sesame, poppy and salt that hits first, then the creamy tang of goat cheese and the sweet-savory onion jam. Each muffin is a little mosaic, bright, earthy and full of texture — a perfect morning or mid-afternoon snack.

Hey there! I’m starting to gather questions for our very first Thanksgiving advice issue, and I’d love your help. What are your cooking conundrums, hosting dilemmas or table talk puzzles? Comment on this issue or send me an email at [email protected].

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What to make this week: Pasta al limone

If you haven’t yet met pasta al limone, let me introduce you: a bright, buttery, lemon-slicked tangle of spaghetti that’s as much about technique as it is about taste. Michael La Corte’s version is a masterclass in restraint; no cream to dull the zing, just butter, cheese, and a generous splash of starchy pasta water, coaxed into a sauce that clings luxuriously to every strand. The lemon is unapologetically front and center, but it’s the marriage of acid, fat, and just-cooked noodles that makes it sing: silky, glossy, comforting and impossibly fast to pull together on a weeknight. 

This is another one of those “learn it once, use it forever” recipes — a little culinary base note you’ll come back to again and again.

What we’re reading and playing: “I Dream of Dinner” and “Inside” 

This week, I’m revisiting two favorites that feel like tiny masterclasses in doing more with less. First up: Ali Slagle’s “I Dream of Dinner (So You Don’t Have To): Low Effort, High Reward Recipes.” 

I’ve returned to it not just for the Fish & Chips Tacos, which truly are the stuff of dreams, but for its overall form. Organized by main ingredients — eggs, noodles, beans, chicken — each chapter is packed with quick tricks, riffable methods, and flavor ideas that make even the simplest cooking feel creative. Again: the quiet power of culinary basics.

And while Halloween is behind us (and while I usually reserve this space for viewing recommendations), I’m letting spooky season linger on the couch with a little “Inside,” the 2016 puzzle-platform horror game from indie studio Playdead. You play as a lone boy drawn into a mysterious, shadowy lab, unraveling a dark project that’s equal parts eerie and mesmerizing. Bonus points: you can finish the main story in a single long-ish afternoon — perfect for sinking in, puzzling out and letting the chill crawl up your spine without committing to a marathon.

Until next week, 

Ashlie Stevens, senior food editor

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